


this town is a song about you

by pocky_slash



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 15,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24306337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: A collection of various standalone Sam/Will ficlets.
Relationships: Will Bailey/Sam Seaborn
Comments: 23
Kudos: 15





	1. the right thing

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello. Sorry if you're subscribed to me from a fandom where I've been active in the last decade, but I've decided a quarantine project is uploading all my TWW fic to AO3. As it says on the tin, this is a collection of Sam/Will ficlets I wrote on LiveJournal between, roughly, 2005 and 2009ish. These all stand alone. If, for some reason, you're looking for the Iowa-adjacent stories, they have their own collection [located here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/26474).
> 
> It's kind of wild to re-read some of these over a decade later. I'm not importing these with their original dates, but they are all very old, so I ask that you be kind to the young college student who wrote the bulk of them :)
> 
> There are a few explicit-adjacent stories in here (I'd say more "mature" than "explicit"), and I've labeled those chapters as such.

Will knows California inside and out. He knows the politics and the population and the layout of Orange County like the back of his hand. He knows Orange County better than some lifelong residents do, and prior to working for Webb, he had never stepped foot there before.

Will knows the California 47th better than anyone, so of course Sam asks for advice when he starts his campaign.

It would be easy to lie. To say, "I know exactly what you need to do" and tell him all the things that will be sure to lose him this election. To sabotage it from the inside so that Sam will come back to DC and Will will stop waking up in an empty hotel bed on his own.

It would be just as easy to confess. To say, "I can't remember ever feeling this way about another person before" and tell him that he's not likely, at his age, to ever feel this way again. To beg him to drop the campaign and come home so they can try and make this thing work.

He can't really do either of those things, though. For all that he cares about Sam, he mostly just wants him to be happy. To be good. To win and prove them all wrong and shine like he was always meant to.

He bites his tongue and takes a deep breath and says, "Okay, Sam, this is what you need to do...."


	2. passing through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To say he doesn't think about Sam would be a lie.

To say he doesn't think about Sam would be a lie. He might not actively be mooning or reminiscing, but he still works in a building with Sam's fingerprints all over it, with people and policy that leaves Sam lingering in the back of his mind. He hasn't said Sam's name out loud in months, but it's buzzing in his brain more than it should be.

Two weeks in California, a handful of phone calls. That was all it was. This should be long behind him.

But now they're in California. Him and Donna, Bob Russell and a campaign full of people so arrogant he can't stand to be around them. They're in California, and that would be fine, except that _Sam_ is in California and even though he tells Donna, _What? No. I haven't seen him in years, why would I...?_ the business card with Sam's number, the same one from two years ago, is burning a hole in his pocket.

He doesn't have to worry, though, because he sees Sam before he even sees the outside of LAX.

They make idle chitchat while Donna beams behind them, talking absently about what's going on and what's gone on, but none of the words can hide the small truths of their looks and gestures, of the flicker of vulnerability behind Sam's eyes and the way Will's hands seize up and shake when he reaches out to hug Sam in greeting.

They say nothing of consequence, but Will leaves knowing the truth, feeling it in the pit of his stomach, knowing that they'll never be taking that risk and that these awkward, accidental encounters are all he can look forward to.

The rest of the trip is anti-climatic.


	3. It's Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Academic AU - In which Will abuses Facebook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet and the next were part of an AU I never finished where the senior staff are all professors at a college. It was written in 2007, and if you are a youth, I promise this is actually how we used Facebook in 2007. (I don't know if it's still a thing, I haven't used Facebook regularly since I graduated from college in 2007.)

A month before the start of the semester, Will says, "So I don't have an apartment yet."

"Oh?" Sam says. "Like, in New Hampshire?"

Will laughs, cradling the phone against his shoulder. His e-mail is flashing and he has a feeling it's from one of the Laurens, who keep insisting that they should have one more dinner before Will leaves for his new job and the rest of them leave to start their PhDs. "Yes in New Hampshire," he says. "The last two times I was out there I didn't get a chance to look."

"Well..." He can almost see Sam biting his lip. "You could always stay with me."

"Oh really?" Will says. He smiles a little, clicking through Lauren Shelby's attempt to convince him that a barbecue is exactly what he needs his last week in town.

"Um," Sam says quickly, "I don't mean... just until you find your own place... or, you know, as long as you want. If you want to. You don't have to. You can--I can find you a place. Or see if there's any campus housing available or... I could get you a hotel!"

Will impulsively clicks over to the other tab in his browser, where Facebook is open. With a wry smile, he changes his relationship status from "single" to "it's complicated."

*

Twelve hours later, there is a barrage of Facebook e-mails in Will's inbox. He logs in with a heavy sigh and scrolls down.

 **Cassie Tatum** has written on your wall.  
 _"Please tell me it's that hot guy from White who was here when you were getting ready to move."_

 **Lauren Shelby** has written on your wall.  
 _"Oh my god, seriously, Will, can we meet him?"_

 **Lauren Chin** has written on your wall.  
 _"Elsie says it's Sam Seaborn. Is it really Sam Seaborn?"_

 **Elsie Snuffin** has written on your wall.  
 _"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA."_

 **Lauren Romano** has written on your wall.  
 _"Bring him to the history department barbecue that you're totally coming to!"_

He doesn't bother replying to any of them, choosing, instead, to click into his inbox, which is displaying two new private messages. The first is from Elsie.

_"Aahahahahahahahaha. I told you so. I TOLD YOU SO. It's about time you ADMITTED TO IT. I knew you wanted to have a million of his babies!"_

He ignores that too, despite the overwhelming urge to send her a primer in human reproduction.

The second message, however, is from Sam.

_Complicated?_

He hits reply without even thinking about it.

_We've kissed twice, been on one and a half dates, and now I'm moving in. What would you call it?_

He feels very satisfied when he hits send. The fact is, this is the most fulfilling relationship he's had in years, which is just too depressing for him to contemplate. There's something fun and sweet about courting Sam long-distance, something that's making him a little nervous to move out to New Hampshire, to try this on a day-to-day basis. He likes the idea of Sam. He likes e-mailing Sam and leaving him voicemail messages and taking pictures of he and Elsie working at the kitchen table with Photo Booth and sending them to him at three in the morning. He's not sure he's ready to have conversations with him instead.

As if on cue, his phone rings.

He picks it up without looking. "Complicated isn't bad, Sam," he says.

"My name isn't Sam," his father says, "but I wouldn't necessarily disagree."

"Hey, Dad."

"So, Elsie tells me she read on the internet that you're seeing someone."

Will rolls his eyes. Of course Elsie called their father. She probably called him before she started e-heckling Will. "I'm not exactly seeing someone. Um, it's--"

"Complicated?" his father asks.

"Yeah."

"I read his book," his father continues. "You'll be bringing him 'round for dinner soon, I'm sure. Manchester isn't too far from Westchester, you know."

"That's just what I need to do when things are complicated," Will says. "Bring my new maybe-boyfriend to have dinner with my famous Air Force General father in his Westchester mansion."

"And that's how I know you're serious about him," his father says. "Usually you're more than happy to let me glower at your potential love-interests for a few nights. This must be something special. It makes me even more excited to intimidate him."

Will covers his face with his hands. "I'm doomed, aren't I?"


	4. The Annual White College Christmas Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Academic AU - In which there are drunken makeouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second bit of the academic AU I never finished. I think this was near the end, because I think the original outline ended at New Year's Eve.

There's a faculty Christmas party every year. Rather, there's a University Faculty Holiday Celebration and then there's a faculty Christmas party, usually held at Leo's house, usually overstocked with alcohol and sweets. It impresses Sam, for various reasons. For one, it reminds Sam of how strong Leo is, five years sober, to allow that level of drunken debauchery in his own living room. Also, it reminds him that every single person that works at White College is a total freaking lightweight.

"You just don't get it!" CJ is saying. It's probably the fourth time she's said it, actually, and Sam can't remember what no one gets.

"I do!" Toby insists. "You're just a drunk, belligerent woman."

Okay. Every single person but Toby.

"If you got it, you'd... you'd get it!" CJ says. "But you don't! Get it, I mean."

"She's totally right, Toby," Amy says. "You're a man. You'll never get it."

Josh makes a noise from where he's passed out on the carpet. If he were to hear the story later, Josh would probably insist it was a tiny grunt of masculine solidarity with Toby. In reality, Sam knows that it's probably a whimper in pavlovian reaction to Amy's angry voice.

Sam stops paying attention, though, when there's a tug at his shirt. He doesn't have to turn around to know that it's Will pulling him out of the living room and into the hallway; he can see everyone else in the room. Additionally, it's getting to the point where he can sense Will's presence.

"Hey," Will says once they're alone in the hallway. There's a pleasant flush to his cheeks, the kind that makes Sam want to forget their agreement to put their burgeoning flirtation on hold. HIs eyes are soft and warm beneath his glasses, and he's got Sam backed into a doorway. Sam's starting to think that Will is regretting their agreement as well.

"Hi," Sam says. "You smell a little like scotch."

"I've been drinking a lot of it," Will says. "I really... you guys... I like it here." He smiles, leans into Sam's space. "A lot."

"Says the writer," Sam says. He means it as a joke, but the closer Will gets, the more the air gets harder to breathe, twists his tone into something else.

"You're the writer," Will says. He's still leaning. "You're better than me, you're brilliant and--" He stops. Takes a step back. Looks confused. "Wait, that's not what I wanted to say."

"What did you want to say?" Sam asks, a hint of amusement in his voice now that he can suck in a lungful of cool, sweet oxygen.

"I wanted to say," Will says, taking a step forward again, eyes lighting up as his memory clicks back into place, "that..." He glances at his watch. 

And glances.

And glances.

Just as Sam is about to ask him if he's forgotten again, Will triumphantly holds up his wristwatch for Sam to see.

"Okay, so, Elsie has this thing about 11:11, apparently there's a song and a thing and you make a wish and--anyway, it's 11:11, and you're supposed to make a wish."

Will looks at him expectantly.

"Um," Sam says. "World peace?"

If looks could kill, Sam would be dead five times over. "Sam," Will says patiently, "We're standing under the mistletoe and I made sure that I'm drunk enough that we can forget this tomorrow if you want. Try again."

Sam gets it, this time, and then he stops thinking about it because he's kissing Will, in the doorway to what appears to be Leo's library, while all of his colleagues are sitting two doors down.

Not that any of the second part matters because he is _kissing Will_. Again.

"What about--" Sam starts to ask when they pull apart for air, gasping and pulling weakly at each other's clothing. "The... the thing! The... agreement. About. This." Will nips his earlobe. "Okay, right!" Sam gasps. "Stupid idea."

They go back to kissing, curled snugly against each other in the corner of the doorway, holding on to each other until Sam forgets exactly how much shit he's going to get for this in the morning.


	5. auld lang syne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit - Sam and Will spent New Year's Eve together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for Porn Battle V - The Fifth Dimension. Dang, remember Porn Battles?

If he didn't know that Toby would die before consenting to this tenuous relationship formed between speech writing and speech giving, Will would almost think that it was a set up. He and Toby were set to work through the night, through the new year, crafting language well into the first hours of 2003. He'd turned down Elsie's invitation to a party and didn't miss the frown she gave him, the tiny shadow of concern and disappointment in her eyes.

Toby got a phone call right before midnight. It was from Andi, she needed something and Toby didn't elaborate before running out.

"Go home," he said. "Watch the ball drop or something."

Will didn't go home. He went to Sam's.

Which didn't make any sense, really, because Sam wasn't home, Sam hadn't been home in months. Sam was in California and Will was in DC and watering Sam's plants didn't really require three visits a day, but he couldn't help himself. Sam's plants didn't need to be watered at quarter to midnight, but, once again, he couldn't help himself.

Turned out, it didn't matter. Sam's plants didn't need to be watered because Sam was there himself.

"I was going to call you," Sam said when Will pushed the door open, but before Sam could say anything else, Will was on top of him.

It wasn't the reunion that Will had been expecting, but, god if it wasn't his new mantra, he couldn't fucking help himself. He hadn't seen Sam in weeks, had barely had time to talk to him between campaigning and writing, wrote longing e-mails every night and never sent them. He missed Sam with every cell of his body and all he could think about was, _now now now touch him now_ as he pressed Sam's body back against the wall.

Sam moaned into his mouth, fisted his hands in Will's shirt and pulled him closer, closer, not that Will was going anywhere. He fumbled between them with one hand, throwing the other arm around Sam's neck and pulling him close and tight, devouring him with energy Will didn't know he had. He managed to get their flies unzipped but couldn't progress any further. Sam grabbed his hand, tangling their fingers together and squeezing tightly, holding on and panting into Will's mouth. He pulled far enough away to whisper, "God, god, god, _please_ , now, Will, please, I need--"

And then he didn't say anything else. He was too busy sucking on Will's neck, digging his fingernails into Will's hand, squeezing bruises onto Will's hips, and Will wanted to sink to his knees, wanted to swallow Sam down, wanted to use his hands, his tongue, his lips, but he couldn't. He couldn't move anywhere, could only rut against Sam, standing in the fucking foyer of all places, rubbing and panting and delighting in the friction, the heat, the way Sam was making tiny, needy noises, and then he said his name and then and then and

It took a couple minutes for Will to come back to himself. His glasses were askew and Sam was slumped against his chest. He was sweaty and sticky and sore, but he had Sam up against him and it was like being able to breathe again.

"Hi," Sam said softly.

"Hey," Will said. "I missed you."

Sam laughed, low and soft and rested his forehead against Will's shoulder. "Really?" he asked. "I couldn't tell."


	6. glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit - Sam and Will and glasses for the Porn Battle. Does what it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Porn Battle VII (The Seven Deadly Sins). The prompt was "glasses."

Sam's shoulders hit the wall hard. His head snaps back and hits as well, then bounces forward again. He nearly cracks his forehead against Will's, but Will pulls away at the last moment and just stares at him. He's breathing hard, mouth red and wet, pupils blown wide. Sam's afraid he's going to say something like, "I love you," or "This is a bad idea," or "We need to stop."

It is a bad idea. They should stop. They should have stopped back when Sam first started running, and if not then, certainly when he was elected. They haven't though, and Sam's not sure he can, now. Something about Will is mind-blowing and addicting. Somewhere along the line, Will became something he couldn't live without.

Will's still staring at him, still inches away, and Sam's torn between asking him what's wrong and pulling him forward, because god, that mouth....

"Put your glasses on," Will finally says. It's Sam's turn to stare until he realizes he's got his glasses squeezed in one hand, hard enough to dig into his skin. Hands shaking, he unfolds them and puts them on his face, narrowly missing poking his own eye out. Will's smile is slow and filled with heat, and then he's shoving Sam back against the wall again, tearing at his fly.

Sam watches Will sink to his knees and then he has to look away, close his eyes, because even after all these months, this sight is still too much for him, seeing that intensity focused on him, feeling it as Will's mouth slides up and down his cock. Will never does anything halfway, and sucking cock is no different. It's maddening, unraveling Sam little by little. He curls his fingers in Will's hair, pants openly for oxygen, dizzy with need, unsure if it's need for air, need to come, or need to be doing this, just this, all of the time, their jobs be damned.

He's waiting for it, begging for it, but coming is still a surprise, a gasp strangled in his throat. His knees give out, and it's Will's arms around his waist, even as he jerks himself off, that keep Sam from falling to the floor.

Some time later, some endless, indistinct time later, Will lowers them both to the ground. Sam stares at him over the rims of glasses that have slid down his nose, at the curled tufts of Will's hair, at the slick sheen on his lips, at the color in his cheeks, at the soft lines around his eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak. He's afraid he's going to say "I love you," or "This is a bad idea," or "We need to stop."

Instead, he says, "Kink?"

Will closes his eyes and laughs. It's hoarse and quiet, but he's smiling.

He leans over and kisses Sam gently on the mouth, righting his glasses as he pulls back.

"Maybe," he admits.

Sam smiles back at him. "Okay," he says. "I can live with that."


	7. something like nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit - In which Will is both desperate and desolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Porn Battle VII (The Seven Deadly Sins). The prompt was "drinks."

If Will was sober, he'd know that this is a terrible idea. He's just lost his job, Sam has just returned to DC in a capacity that isn't making him as happy as everyone thinks it should. They haven't seen each other in years and haven't touched each other in longer. Neither of them is entirely stable. They're drunk. In fact, he's drunk and he still knows this is a terrible idea.

But none of that mattered when Sam led him to the restroom after their third drink and none of that matters now that he's sliding into Sam, holding him as close as possible, and swearing under his breath to keep his mouth moving, to keep from saying something he might regret, to keep from saying anything at all.

Because four years ago this would have meant everything--Sam flush against him, sweating and clutching and begging--but after a year campaigning for the wrong man for the job, a year working for the tattered remains of the Bartlet White House, and watching, just days ago, a different man (but still the wrong one) being sworn into office, he'll be happy if it means anything at all. He'll be happy if, for just one moment, he can recapture the beauty and drive and potential--both his and Sam's--that he saw for a shining moment on a California beach.


	8. make a new plan, sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"No, it's okay," Will says quickly. "We planned for this. We had our back up plan."_
> 
> _"Our back up plan was to break up," Sam says quietly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for part of an ongoing "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover" challenge I occasionally like to give myself.

"Will?"

Will knows who it is without even asking who it is. He always knows. It's been less than six months and you could put him blindfolded in a room with three hundred people and he'd still be able to find Sam Seaborn by the sound of his voice.

"You need to come back soon, because I've gotta say, if Josh says one more--"

"Will."

He stops typing. There's something about Sam's voice, some kind of urgancy that he can't pin down, except to say that it's sinking into the bottom of his stomach and he knows this can't be a good thing. His hand tightens around the phone convulsively.

"Yes?" he finally says.

"Have you... you haven't watched the local news today, have you?"

"One of the perks of working in the White House is that I don't have to watch the local news, everything worth knowing is--"

"Will, there was... some photos surfaced. I'm not... I'm not losing anymore." Will's automatic response is to congratulate him, but he bites his tongue. He doesn't exactly feel like celebrating. Sam winning was not something either of them had ever planned on.

"Well," Will says. "I guess... I mean..."

"Will, I--"

"No, it's okay," Will says quickly. "We planned for this. We had our back up plan."

"Our back up plan was to break up," Sam says quietly. "The plan? The one for if I won? The idea seemed so ludicrious that our back up plan was to break up."

They're both quiet for a long moment.

"I need to finish this," Will finally says. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Will, I--"

"I just... I'll finish this and I'll call you back and we can talk, okay?"

"I..." Sam hesitates. "Fine. I'll talk to you later, Will."

"Goodbye, Sam."

Will hangs the phone up and closes his eyes. He knows what he's just done. He knows that Sam knows what he's just done. It's quite possible that he's fallen head over heels for Sam Seaborn, that he is completely in love with this passionate, honest man, but he knows that he'll never return Sam's call. He knows that, for the first time in his life, he's broken up with someone, not the other way around. He's broken up with the only person worth keeping.

"CJ! CJ! I just got off the phone with Toby!" Josh calls across the bullpen. "Sam is actually winning!"

There are cheers in the bullpen, and Will plasters a smile across his face. There are some things that are just much more important than he could ever be. Sam's career is one of them.


	9. words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gets an email.

Will had been staring at the e-mail message for a long time. It was like trying to unlock a mystery. It had come from Sam several hours ago, a cordial summary of the campaign that was sent to all of the senior staff. And Will. He wondered if that looked strange to anyone else. It certainly looked strange to him, seeing his name in the recipient line, "Bailey, William" sandwiched between "Lyman, Joshua" and "Ziegler, Toby." He was second only to Josh Lyman. He wondered if anyone else thought it was strange that he moved up to second in Sam Seaborn's life so quickly.

Stranger than the list of addresses were the words within. Just genial little anecdotes about the campaign, about how much he was looking forward to seeing everyone again. At the end, though, there were quick personal greetings. Again, his name was second and again it made him slightly paranoid. Would the rest of the staff notice? What would they think? _"Will, you're doing fine. You'll be great. Trust me."_

He had been trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind those words for so long, his eyes were starting to hurt. They were innocent, unassuming. There was nothing that even hinted at impropriety there. Could they have a double meaning? Had Sam been trying to hide something, trying to say something meaningful without alerting his friends that he was sleeping with his replacement?

"You're being neurotic, Bailey," Will said to himself, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "If he wanted to say something that badly, he would have just sent another--"

His e-mail indicator beeped before he could finish his sentence. He knew it was Sam before he even maximized the program. This time he was the sole recipient.

_Oh, and PS: I love you._

Will smiled. Now those were words that he understood.


	10. coffee break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Sam gets on line at Starbucks and sees Will two customers in front of him, he's seized by momentary panic._

When Sam gets on line at Starbucks and sees Will two customers in front of him, he's seized by momentary panic. They haven't spoken since Sam was elected, and while it's mostly Will's fault, Sam didn't try very hard to rectify the situation. As much as he might have loved Will - and he really, truly did believe that he could love Will Bailey, given time - part of him wanted the seat in Congress more than anything else. That is the major stumbling block in nearly all of his relationships - work will always, _always_ be more important.

As Will steps up to the counter, Sam opens the newspaper folded under his arm and holds it in front of his face. As far as he can tell, Will hasn't seen him yet. A social catastrophe can easily be avoided as long as Will never knows that Sam is two customers behind him.

"A grande house blend, light and sweet," he hears Will say, and freezes. Will never drinks his coffee light and sweet. In fact, he made fun of Sam on a regular basis for doing just that. "And another, this one black. Oh, and a blueberry muffin." Sam peeks over the top of his newspaper, but Will makes no movement to indicate that he even knows Sam is there. Sam pulls the paper back up over his face once Will walks over to pick up his drinks and his muffin. In fact, he's so busy trying to act casual that he doesn't notice that Will's standing next to him until it's too late.

"I bought you coffee," he says. Will is holding one of the cups out at arms length. Sam feels his ears burn as he lowers the paper, noticing for the first time that it's upside down.

"Thanks," he says awkwardly, taking the offered coffee. Will stands there for another moment, as if waiting for Sam to say something else.

"I have a muffin," Will says after a moment, holding up a brown paper bag. "And I'm going to go over there and sit and eat my muffin." He gestures with the bag towards the empty chairs by the window. "I was just going to read the paper or something but if you wanted to come and sit with me and talk to me while I'm eating my muffin... that would be okay." Will bites his lip when he finishes, a clear tell that he's not as confident in this plan as he sounds. The tip of his tongue wets his lips, and Sam's stomach flip-flops.

"Can I have a piece of your muffin?" Sam asks quietly, not quite meeting Will's eyes.

"Maybe," Will says. There's another short, almost clumsy silence. "I'm going to go sit down now." Will excuses himself through the line and crosses the coffeeshop to take a seat at the table in front of the window. It only takes Sam about five seconds to follow him.


	11. responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I have a question..." Elsie says._
> 
> _"Okay..."_
> 
> _"...about Sam Seaborn."_

"Willy?" Elsie says, dropping onto his bed so that she can watch him work on the floor. Will sighs loudly, but says nothing about the childhood nickname.

"Yes, Elsie?" he asks. His head is swimming, trying to come up with campaign strategies AND a way to pay the staff AND a way to find time to write some new speeches AND a way to get his goddamned car payment in on time. Elsie will be a nice distraction from the massive amounts of responsibility he's sentenced himself to.

"I have a question..." she says.

"Okay..."

"...about Sam Seaborn."

Will actually turns away from his piles of papers to glare at her.

"I'm not answering questions about Sam Seaborn," he says. Elsie flounces - that's the only word for it - so that she's draped across the bed, chin resting in her hands, on eye level with him.

"This isn't a press conference, Will," she says. "You can't just decide not to answer questions. And my question is this. When are you going to call him?" Will keeps glaring. "He left you his number. He left you TWO of his numbers."

"He left me those numbers for professional and political reasons," Will says. He keeps glaring. "Not for personal reasons. Not that I would _have_ a personal reason to call him in the first place..." They stare at each other for a long moment, in which Will realizes that - although they're not genetically related - Elsie has definitely inherited their father's patronizing look.

Elsie relents first, sliding down so that she's sitting next to him, her back against the bed. "He's really cute, Will. Anyone would say so. _I_ think he's cute. I'd totally call him if I didn't think he was so into you..."

"He's _not_ \--" Will catches himself before he can fall into Elsie's trap. "I need to be serious, Elsie. There's a lot riding on this and Mrs. Wilde is counting on me to keep everything running smoothly until the election. I have a lot to do." That would be the perfect place to end, but he can't help himself. "And Sam Seaborn is not _into me_. I'm sure he's got all kinds of women and--whatever. He's not interested." Elsie grabs his cellphone and starts to cycle through the numbers before can stop her. "Hey!"

"Sam Seaborn Office, Sam Seaborn Cell, Sam Seaborn _Home_...." She grins triumphantly. "Why would he have given you his home number if he wasn't into you? What could you possibly have to say to him that you couldn't say on the office line or on his cell?"

Will doesn't tell her he's been trying to figure that out for the past three days. He doesn't tell her he's been moments away from e-mailing Sam, from trying to put together some language that would allow him to casually gauge Sam's interest so if he _does_ get up the nerve to get in contact with him, he won't make a fool out of himself. He doesn't tell her that he's not calling Sam because he's not interested, but because he's afraid _Sam's_ not interested.

He doesn't tell her, but she's his little sister. She's his best friend. She knows anyway.

"You know, you can be responsible AND have a life at the same time, Willy."

"Me calling Sam Seaborn is about as likely as Horton Wilde winning this election," Will says, snatching his cellphone back. Elsie grins and leans over to kiss Will's cheek.

"We'll just have to make sure Horton Wilde wins this election then, won't we?"


	12. Halloween, Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Trick or treat," Sam says.

It's been a long day, and Will wants nothing more than to put his feet up. After arguments with Toby and Josh and an incredibly ill-timed filibuster, he's beginning to seriously consider hopping on the next plane to the Carribean for a long-needed vacation. The constant stream of sugar-crazed trick-or-treaters isn't exactly helping matters, either. He wonders where Sam and Elsie are--Elsie had _promised_ she'd be the one to deal with the trick-or-treaters--but can't be bothered to find his phone and call them.

The doorbell rings and he sighs heavily before lugging himself to his feet again. He grabs the bowl of candy, plasters a fake smile on his face and opens the apartment door. "What a great--" He cuts himself off and goggles when he sees who it is.

"Trick or treat," Sam says. Will blinks. Sam readjusts his toga. Well, certainly no room for keys in _that_. That would answer at least one of Will's questions...

"Oh my god."

"Right on the money," Sam says, grinning triumphantly. He's holding a brown paper bag that clearly contains something other than candy. Something remarkably bottle shaped. He's also holding a pumpkin. "Dionysus."

"God of drunken debauchery," Will says, raising an eyebrow.

"Right again," Sam says. "Now why don't you let me inside and we'll see what we can do about that?"


	13. Halloween, Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are pumpkin guts everywhere.

There are pumpkin guts everywhere. That's the first thing Elsie notices when she enters the apartment she's sharing with her brother and Sam (just, she says, until she can find a place of her own now that Timothy the jackass dumped her). The second thing she notices is that everywhere includes the carpet and the upholstery (and where the hell did all of these pumpkin guts come from? It had to be more than one pumpkin...), and she sighs because she knows who's going to be in charge of cleaning that up. Then there's the spilt wine, the miniature chocolate bars all over the floor, the torn bed sheet, and--was that a wreath of grape vines?

She steps over the debris, trying very carefully not to trod on the skirt of her costume, and finally finds the rind of the pumpkin, smashed on the floor.

She decides she's not even going to ask. That is, if she ever finds her missing brother and his boyfriend.

She doesn't have far to look, however. She pushes open the door to their bedroom, not entirely surprised to find the two of them sleeping peacefully, wrapped around each other, with liberal amounts of pumpkin guts in their hair.

She decides, as she closes the door, that she's _definitely_ not going to ask.


	14. Congress is Hard

Being a Congressman was hard, harder than Sam thought it would be. He didn't think anything would be quite as difficult as working in the White House, but that was before he had to worry about fundraising and money and constituents, before he had to face so much by himself, without his friends to catch his fall. Some nights he didn't know how to handle it all—he just wanted to get into his car and drive and drive and drive until he was miles away from DC, sequestered in some tiny town in rural America where no one knew him.

Those thoughts always vanished as soon as he returned to his apartment. Coming home to find Will curled up in his bed, or sitting on the couch, drafting a statement, made Washington DC the only place he could imagine himself coming home to.


	15. places i have never been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A roadtrip.

Sam drives, because sometimes Will gets carsick and sometimes Will gets sleepy and sometimes Will likes to stare into the nothingness and slip inside his head. That's okay with Sam. That's fine. Sam likes driving, likes it even more with a good song on the radio and Will's hand absently brushing his knee from time to time. Driving is freedom to Sam, and with each mile they put between themselves and the Beltway, Sam feels the weight on his chest lift just a little bit.

They've been driving for hours when the sun finally starts to peek from just beyond the horizon. Morning dawns as they drive past Binghamton, NY, the first rays of light leaving soft highlights in Will's hair while his head rests against the window. It's not until the sun has made it's way fully past the tops of the trees that Will sits up, blinking but silent, able to move from sleeping to waking with an ease that astounds Sam to this day.

Ten hours after they leave DC, and Sam's eyes are starting to get bleary. Will reaches over and strokes his forehead before ordering him to pull over. They switch places and Sam turns and rests his cheek on the part of the headrest that's still warm from Will's body. Will adjusts the mirrors and seat in an incredibly precise manner that Sam finds oddly endearing, before pulling back onto the highway.

"Sam?" he asks after about ten miles. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know," Sam admits. He adds, as an afterthought, "somewhere new."

Will stares at him for a moment and nods, ducking his head to hide the small, tender smile that's started to spread across his face. "An adventure," he says, and Sam can't help but smile back. It's going to be an amazing two weeks. He can already tell.


	16. a bad day

"You broke the window."

"I was so _angry_ , Sam."

"You _broke the window_?"

"Sam!"

"I'm sorry. There's just... I've gotta say, if you were trying to prove your masculinity to Toby--"

" _Sam!_ "

"It was a joke! It was a little joke that I was telling to diffuse the tension."

"I can't do this, Sam."

"Why do you keep saying that? Of course you can do it. You've already done it, Will. You're hours away."

"This isn't the speech I wanted to write."

"They never are."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. It's... Will, it's an honor to write for the President of the United States. It's a privilege and it's a thrill but ninety-five percent of the time you need to put your own ideals aside and do what you have to do. Things get done, but not always the things you'd want. Not always everything. The number of times I had to write something to cover up huge losses, bad politics, and hateful legislation? It sucks, but it's the sacrifice you make to be able to achieve the things you can. Sometimes you get your heart broken, but it's usually not long until you do something else that manages to weld it back together."

"...very nice, but I wouldn't have used a welding metaphor at the end. It makes it sound as if your heart is made of metal. Is your heart made of metal?"

"You would know."

"I would, wouldn't I? God, Sam. It should be you doing this. Why the hell couldn't I just lose that election like a respectable Orange County Democrat?"

"Because you are remarkably good at your job, Will Bailey. You're remarkably good at this job, too, and in practically no time, it'll be over."

"There's that, at least. And you'll be back soon."

"I will indeed. We can make up for lost time."

They talked for a few more minutes before Will managed to make himself hang up and climb into bed. He was sore, overtired, and frustrated, but at least Sam was right about one thing: the job was over. He had done just about all that needed to be done and in no time at all he'd be out of the White House and on with his life.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is nervous for many reasons, but first and foremost is the impending dread of being stuck in a car with General Thomas Bailey for who knows how long.

Sam is nervous for many reasons, but first and foremost is the impending dread of being stuck in a car with General Thomas Bailey for who knows how long.

He knows what General Bailey looks like, both from news stories, archive photos, and a brief meeting at the beginning of Bartlet's first term. Even if he didn't have those things, he passes by the graduation picture of Will and his father that sits on their mantle on a daily basis. Still, another reason he is nervous is a niggling fear that he and General Bailey will miss each other at the airport.

He has many reasons to be nervous, all of which relate back to the fact that he's been sleeping General Bailey's son for over a month, now. He's so nervous, in fact, that when he hears someone say his name, he jumps nearly three feet in the air.

"Sam?" General Bailey says again, and Sam swallows.

"Hi, sir," he squeaks. "Um, Will is held up--"

"I know," General Bailey says. "We spoke last night, remember?" Sam nods mutely, gesturing towards the parking lot, where his car is waiting. Will's father seems to be on the verge of cracking up, a fact that makes Sam even more edgy.

"Sam," he finally says, "You can relax a little, you know. I don't bite."

"You're a four star general," Sam points out.

"Really? Thanks for pointing that out, Sam."

Sam can feel himself blushing. "No, I mean, you're a four star general and I'm, ah--"

"Screwing my son?" General Bailey says innocently. Sam's blush deepens and he nods. "You're not the first."

Sam nods again.

"You know, usually I have a whole routine I do. With glaring and intimidating stares and a little speech that starts with, 'what are your intentions with my son?' but I feel like that would just be cruel, at this point, seeing as how you're already catatonic."

Sam feels acutely embarrassed. He's made a profession out of being articulate, being good with words, and he can't manage to say anything to his boyfriend's father that isn't a choked, panicked noise.

"I'm sorry, sir," he says. "I just... it's not often you date the son of one of the most powerful men in the world. I'm not exactly sure how to act, or what you expect. The only experience I have with you involved you almost making the Serbian Ambassador cry. And you were just visiting."

They've reached Sam's car, at this point, which in one way, is a relief. At least the car is familiar. Of course, it also means it's the start of being stuck in a car, alone with his boyfriend's father.

He needs to chill out.

"Well, that was work, Sam," General Bailey says. "As much as it was just a visit, it was a strategically planned visit. The President was able to finish his negotiations without looking like the bad guy, wasn't he?"

"Well, yeah," Sam said. "But I think the guy had to sleep with the lights on after that."

"I know," General Bailey said with a sly smirk. "And, I'll take a moment here to point out that anyone who hurts any of my children will be subject to the same fate. But you're not going to do that, are you?"

"Never," Sam says, and he means it, viscerally.

"Good." His expression softens in a way he knows his own expression tends to soften when he's talking about Will. Suddenly, talking to the general seems a little easier. "Sam, I may seem like a tyrant, but I've got a sense of humor. I mean, you've met my step-daughter, haven't you?"

Sam laughs and starts the car, and after that, the drive home isn't that bad at all.


	18. Message Erased!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **To:** samuel.seaborn@whitehouse.gov  
>  **From:** wbailey@dccc.org  
>  **Subject:** Just saying hi

**To:** samuel.seaborn@whitehouse.gov  
 **From:** wbailey@dccc.org  
 **Subject:** Just saying hi  
 **Date:** 26 Dec 2002 01:03:44 AM ET  
  
S-  
  
So, how are things going out in California?  
  
It's too bad that you couldn't make it out here for the holiday. I know that the senior staff really missed you.  
  
Oh god, I can't believe I'm writing this.  
  


*** **Message Erased!** ***

  
  
**To:** samuel.seaborn@whitehouse.gov  
 **From:** wbailey@dccc.org  
 **Subject:** Question  
 **Date:** 26 Dec 2002 01:11:23 AM ET  
  
Sam,  
  
I had a question regarding the congressional section of the draft I'm working on right now. I know you're probably busy, but Toby and I are having a disagreement about something. Can you maybe look the section over and give me your opinion?  
  
Oh, and while I'm writing you an e-mail, I just thought I'd drop in that I miss you and am desperately failing at finding a way of contacting you that doesn't make me look like a clingy, lovesick puppy.  
  
So, how's the weather?  
  


*** **Message Erased!** ***

  
  
**To:** samuel.seaborn@whitehouse.gov  
 **From:** wbailey@dccc.org  
 **Subject:** How's it going?  
 **Date:** 26 Dec 2002 01:19:23 AM ET  
  
Sam,  
  
Just checking in to see how your staff is working out. I haven't heard much from you, lately, or from the staff, and I was just thinking about it and wanted to make sure the campaign is running smoothly.  
  
Because admitting that A) I don't trust you to run the campaign well on your own and B) I sit up at night thinking about you is a good thing to do if I don't want to sound stupid and desperate.  
  


*** **Message Erased!** ***

  
  
**To:** samuel.seaborn@whitehouse.gov  
 **From:** wbailey@dccc.org  
 **Subject:** Hey...  
 **Date:** 26 Dec 2002 01:25:56 AM ET  
  
Sam,  
  
It's just that things here are getting so strange. You said you might be back at Christmas and I was looking forward to that more than I would admit. I know I said that night (well, those nights) in Califorina that I wasn't the type to get attached, but you've needled your way into my brain. I can't help it. And now I'm in your office and everyone here hates me and I haven't talked to you on the phone in three days and I think I'm going crazy.  
  
Oh my god, Bailey, you need to get over this and get some sleep.  
  


*** **Message Erased!** ***

  
  
**To:** samuel.seaborn@whitehouse.gov  
 **From:** wbailey@dccc.org  
 **Subject:** Sam...  
 **Date:** 26 Dec 2002 01:34:53 AM ET  
  
You know how I said I'm bad at relationships? I'm also pretty bad at e-mail. And knowing what to say.  
  
I mean, don't get me wrong, writing speeches I can do. Writing speeches, essays, briefs, addresses... those are easy. Those have formulas, they have very precise wording. The language is so specific, you don't have to put as much thought into it. There's an art to it, of course. If there wasn't, anyone would be able to do it. But it's not as intricate as knowing what to say in social situations. In this social situation, specifically.  
  
I feel stupid writing this. It's after one and I have tomorrow off. Today, I guess, now that it's after midnight. I should be sleeping in and enjoying myself. Except that I'm in your apartment, sitting on your bed, and you're not here. You're in California, and I haven't spoken to you in three days, which seems much longer than it actually is.  
  
I feel pathetic writing this, Sam, but I can't help it. I miss you.  
  
There, I said it. And that's really all I wanted to say.  
  
-Will  
  
PS: I won't even tell you how many drafts of this e-mail I went through in the past forty minutes. It's embarrassing.  
  


*** **Message Sent!** ***


	19. the wrong man was convicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're important to me," Josh insists, but even as he says it, he knows that's not what Sam wants to hear.

"So that's it, then?" Josh says. He's on beer number four, because even though they've gone out specifically to discuss this, it's only after four beers that Josh will even admit what "this" is.

"That's it," Sam says. He sips a glass of water, the same one he's been nursing since they arrived at the bar. Josh wants to make a biting remark about that, but he's already starting to get a headache, and at this point he's more jealous of Sam's foresight than anything else. Tomorrow's a work day, after all.

"I just always thought..." Josh starts to say. "I mean... I figured that after all these years, if you were going to leave for good... well, I guess I figured that after all these years you never would leave for good."

"I am," Sam says. He looks away. "I could risk everything by doing this, Josh, and if I'm going to risk everything it's got to mean something. It means something to him. It's never meant anything to you. You've never been committed to it. I've been your consolation prize, and it's not like that to him. To him, I mean everything."

"You're important to me," Josh insists, but even as he says it, he knows that's not what Sam wants to hear. He knows that. He knows he's important to Josh, but being important doesn't necessarily mean what Sam wants it to mean.

"I have to get going," Sam replies, fishing out his wallet and dropping enough money on the table to cover Josh's drinks and a tip.

"He's waiting?" Josh says with something resembling a sneer.

"I'm sorry, Josh." Sam deftly ignores Josh. "You never showed conviction."


	20. election night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You met a guy out there named Will Bailey," she says. "Did you meet a guy or did you _meet a guy_?"

When Sam comes back with a second cup of coffee, Donna says, "So I've been thinking about what you said before."

"About the Aristotelian confluence of events?" Sam says, handing her a paper cup and shoving his hands into his pockets.

"About Will Bailey," Donna says, and Sam wishes he had his own cup of coffee so that he could distract himself with it, swallow, shift it between hands, anything to look more casual and less twitchy.

"What about Will Bailey?" Sam asks, clearing his throat a little.

"You met a guy out there named Will Bailey," she says. "Did you meet a guy, or did you _meet a guy_?"

Sam coughs. Of course Donna is the one to pick up on it. She always is. He could come in looking rumpled and glassy eyed with a hickey on his throat and Josh would never in a million years figure out what's going on. Donna can tell by the cadence of his voice.

"It's... it's nothing, Donna. It can't be anything. It won't be anything." Donna bites her lip. "Since it can't be anything, since it's my fault it can't be anything, I thought I would... I thought I could do this for him. I didn't expect anything to come of it."

"Because now it really can't be anything, right?" Donna says. Her voice is soft and warm and he gets the feeling she wants to pet his hair and tell him everything's going to be all right. He doesn't quite know what to say, because she's right, of course she's right, of course nothing can happen now and it was stupid and childish and risky to say something so eternally stupid in order to stick out to someone. There were a million other ways to get Will Bailey to like him. Why in the hell did he have to choose this one?

"It's early yet," he says, and Donna nods sagely. "No," he says quickly. "No, I mean for the election. It's early yet. There's still... I mean, we might still make it. He! He might still make it. Webb. Might still make it."

Donna smiles at him sadly and gives him a hug. He allows himself one shaky swallow before straightening up.

"We still have time," he says, and pretends he doesn't see the way Donna frowns and wraps her free arm around her waist as he walks away.


	21. the last time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last time Sam saw his apartment, he didn't expect it to be the last time.

The last time Sam saw his apartment, he didn't expect it to be the last time.

"And there are extra linens in the closet," he said, leading Will through the small rooms. "Towels, sheets, stuff like that. But feel free to rifle through the drawers to find whatever you need, okay?"

He figured it wouldn't be a big deal. He'd be home soon enough, and maybe he could even convince Will to stay, just for a little while at first, but hopefully for longer. He was going to lose this, he knew it, and once he did there was no other option, no other office he could think about holding, and as he watched Will hold back a small smile and lightly touch shelves and drawers in the bedroom, he decided he was maybe mostly okay with that. It was Bartlet's second term and they didn't have to worry about reelection anymore. When this congressional run ruined his own career, he wouldn't have to worry about that either. For the first time in his life, he wouldn't have to worry about anything but his own feelings, but what he wanted.

He smiled at Will then, and later, after they'd fucked their way through stilted goodbyes, he gathered up his suitcases and briefcase and took a quick glance around the room before heading down to get a taxi to the airport.

After the scandal, after the victory, after the long, silent phone call with Will, Sam spent a long time sitting on the stoop of the building across the street, staring up at the dark window of what was once his bedroom. At the end of the month, the lease would change to Will's name and at the end of the week, Sam would be moving somewhere new.

He thought about the long conversation with Will and had a feeling that he'd never get a chance to see the inside of his old apartment again.


	22. spin the bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been months since Sam got back to DC, but he always seems to be mysteriously busy on the nights that Josh and the rest of the senior staff get a rare night off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Josh finds out" is like a whole sub-genre of my Sam/Will fic, for sure.

It takes Josh about three months to spend a proper night out with Sam once he moves back to DC with a shiny new job on the Hill. Despite the fact that the United States Congress takes more vacation days than any other organization in the world, Sam had been busy almost every weekend and most week nights when Josh was free. Still, when Josh got out of a last minute trip to Sacramento with the President and most of the rest of the senior staff, Sam miraculously had the evening free.

After dinner, a baseball game, and a few beers, they're sprawled loose and happy across Sam's couch. Josh is feeling nostalgic and is about to ask Sam if he wants to make out when something shiny under the arm chair catches his eye. He turns away from the teevee and squints and... wow, that is definitely a condom wrapper.

"You're getting laid!" he exclaims. It's a little bit accusing, yes, but he says it with a sporting grin and punches Sam lightly in the arm.

Sam turns pink very, very quickly.

"I... don't know what you're talking about," he says, eyes trained on the television set.

"You totally are!" He gives Sam his best smirk, looking forward to teasing him for at least the next few hours. "Who is it? Is it Mallory?"

"It's not Mal," Sam says, picking absently at the arm of the couch.

"Oh man, is it Ainsley?" Josh says. "Her politics may suck, but she's definitely hot and I've seen the way she looks at you."

"It's not Ainsley," Sam says. "Josh, why don't we just--"

"Is it that girl... god, what was her name? From your campaign. Bethy? Becky?"

"Josh, seriously--"

"It has to be someone from California. Who came back with you? That girl, Tara, and Sydney and... god, it's not Cathy, is it? Because I love Cathy, but she's scary as hell."

"It's none of those people," Sam says slowly, "and I really don't want to talk about this anymore." Sam is getting that look on his face, the one that means that he isn't going to stand for much more of this. That really just makes Josh want it more. He doesn't know what that says about him, but he ignores it and presses further.

"What about..." He wracks his brain. "Ellie--no, Elsie. On the First Lady's staff? She was out there, right?"

Sam looks scandalized. "I'm not sleeping with Will's sister!" he exclaims.

"What, would Will be offended?" Josh asks. He means it as a joke, but he sees the way Sam's eyes dart to the side, the way his hand tightens around his beer bottle. All at once he remembers Sam's weak excuses for not being able to meet, excuses that always seem to fall on the days that the senior staff has a rare night off. He remembers how badly Will had wanted to come out to California and how often Will calls Sam to ask his opinion.

"I... no," Sam says weakly. "No, he just... um..." He trails off and focuses on the teevee again. "I just don't want to talk about it Josh, okay?"

Josh's throat feels tight and restrictive. There is something foreign and uncomfortable brewing in his stomach and he's hot all over.

"We don't have to talk about it," he says quietly. "It's fine."

And they don't talk about that or anything else for the rest of the night.


	23. write about a justifiable sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's never going to win. It's never going to matter. No one will ever know. It's nothing more than a fling, anyway.

He's never going to win. It's never going to matter. No one will ever know. It's nothing more than a fling, anyway.

This is what he tells himself at night, after Will's fallen asleep, after they've hung up the phone, after he's showered away any evidence of what he just did. He repeats it over and over again, his new mantra for these few dark hours when he has his hotel room to himself, when he's just Sam, not Sam Seaborn, Congressional Hopeful, not Sam Seaborn, Aide to the President. He takes these few precious hours to himself and he calls Will, he thinks about Will and talks to him, the need and lust evident in his voice, the way he never lets himself be seen during the day. He lets Will know what's on his mind, what he's doing, what he's thinking. He tells Will the things he would never tell anyone else, secure in the fact that he's a country away.

He tells himself it's not going to matter because he's never going to win. That no one is going to care because once he loses this race, his name will fade into obscurity and no one will care whose late night phone calls make him hard and who he thinks about in the shower. He tells himself that no one will ever know, because he's certainly not going to advertise it, and Will has a career to think of. He tells himself that it's nothing more than a fling, and tells himself and tells himself and tells himself, because maybe if he keeps saying it, it will be true, and maybe if he keeps saying it, he won't feel empty and listless every time he hears the conversation click to a close.

It's not like he's going to win. It doesn't matter. No one will ever know. It's nothing more than a fling, it can't be anything more, it won't be anything more, no matter how much he wants to think otherwise.


	24. write about a fragment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam comes by to help Will unpack the day he moves into the OEOB.

Sam comes by to help Will unpack the day he moves into the OEOB. He doesn't ask because he's afraid it will just bring forth the lecture that he knows Sam has stored up. These people meant everything to Sam, and Will's afraid that Sam will never forgive him for abandoning them.

But Sam doesn't say anything. He just helps Will take things out of boxes and sits on the edge of his desk, kicking his feet and wondering aloud about how the votes will go on the legislation scheduled to hit the floor the next morning.

It's driving Will crazy.

"You can say it, you know," he finally says, when the last boxes are empty and it's just him and Sam, standing in front of the desk and staring at all the open space.

Sam leans over and picks something up from the top of the desk instead of answering. He holds it to the light, and Will sees that it's a shard of glass.

"What is this?" he asks, even though Will is pretty sure he's explained it to Sam before.

"It's a piece of glass from the night I broke Toby's window," he says. "You know that."

"And why do you keep it?" Sam asks.

"To remind me never to let myself bottle up so much anger that I start breaking windows," Will says.

Sam smiles at him and replaces the glass on Will's desk, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"Then I think you've made the right choice," he says softly.


	25. passing notes

When Will settles into his new office, it takes him five hours to find the first note. He finds it by accident, taped to the inside of the middle drawer of the desk.

_There's a back staircase at the end of the main corridor that goes directly down to the mess._

He wonders, for a moment, if it was a message left for someone else, and decides to ignore it and file the information away for the future.

He finds the second one inside the filing cabinet.

_If you buy lunch for Bonnie and Ginger once every few weeks, they'll help you out with whatever you need, even if it isn't strictly in their job descriptions._

He realizes, then, that they are meant for him, that they're from Sam, and that there must be more of them.

He keeps writing, though he's itching to look for more, and rewards himself every five pages. There are notes about the cafeteria schedule, tips about talking to Josh and working with Toby, suggestions for decorating the office, and directions to secret hideaways and the best places for inspiration.

There are twenty in all, and Will is nearly certain he has all of them when he finally gets ready to return to Sam's (former) (empty) apartment, the clock ticking closer and closer to midnight.

He almost doesn't notice the yellow square of paper wrapped around one of the pegs on the coatstand, but carefully untapes it once he realizes what it is.

_You'll be amazing. You're already amazing. Call me if you need anything. Call me even if you don't need anything._

He feels a little better as he folds it up and puts it in his pocket, heading back out to his car.


	26. chicken soup for the speechwriter's soul

Sam doesn't think making chicken soup can really be _that_ difficult, but as soon as the burning smell starts to emanate from the pot on the stove, he gives up and calls Barbara.

It's nearly six at night in Brussels and Barbara and General-- _Tom_ \--are on their way out to a party, but Barbara laughs and walks Sam through it anyway, going slowly so Sam can copy it down longhand onto the pad they keep by the phone for grocery lists.

She wishes Sam well and asks him to tell Will to get well soon. She hangs up, and Sam is left standing in the kitchen with half chopped vegetables piled around him and instructions that seem simple enough.

He follows Barbara's directions to the letter, and before long, there's actual soup sitting on the stove. It doesn't taste half bad, so he pours a bowl, adds an ice cube, just like his mom used to, and brings it into the bedroom.

The blinds are still drawn tight and the air in the room feels stale and heavy. He wonders, as he tidies the bedside table to make room for the soup, if he can convince Will to take a nap in the guestroom while he airs out the bedroom and washes the sheets. The dust and grime from four days of the flu can't be helping Will's immune system, even if Sam forces him into a lukewarm shower every night before bed.

He looks for a place to put his armful of empty tea mugs and used tissues, and hears Will stirring beneath the blankets. There's nowhere to put the mugs except for on top of the dirty clothes on the dresser (Sam's going to get around to doing laundry this weekend, he swears he is), so he drops them on yesterday's suit and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Hey," he says quietly. "How are you feeling?"

Will makes a pained noise.

"I know," Sam says. "The doctor says it will probably take a few days to run its course thanks to ignoring it for a week and nearly working yourself to death, and that's definitely a conversation we're going to be having once you're well enough to sit upright."

Will makes another noise and his face peeks out from under the covers. He's pale, save for red splotches high on his cheek bones, and his hair is a mess. Sam touches his forehead gingerly and isn't surprised that it's still warm.

"You still have a fever," he says. "Do you want some more Motrin?"

"Probably a good idea," Will murmurs. "Sore." He looks up at Sam with half-closed, glassy eyes. 

Sam fumbles for the bottle of pills on the bedside table, still thrown by seeing Will so helpless. "I made you some soup," he says. He manages to get two pills out of the bottle without spilling the rest on the floor.

"Is it safe?" Will asks, looking up at Sam again. There's a hint of his usual mischief behind the fuzziness brought on by the flu. Sam relaxes slightly.

"I'm going to pretend that that's fevered nonsense you're spewing," he says as he hands Will the pills and a half-empty glass of water. "And also, Barbara walked me through it."

"You called Barbara?" Will asks after he's swallowed.

"Had to," Sam says. "My mom doesn't know how to make chicken soup that doesn't come from a can. I'm surprised Barbara does. I mean, I've seen pictures of the house in Brussels."

"Barbara knows everything," Will says. Sam's pretty sure he's not exaggerating, despite the fever. 

"I'll bet she does," Sam says. He takes a lock of Will's hair between his thumb and forefinger and pulls it off his forehead. "You want some soup?"

"In a little bit," Will says. He closes his eyes again and sags back against the pillows.

"Is there anything else you want?" Sam asks.

"To get better," Will mutters.

"Working on that. In the meantime?"

"To lie here and be miserable," Will says. Sam smoothes out Will's hair and smiles wryly to himself. 

"Okay," he says. "I think you can manage that. I'm going to go do some laundry." Before he can get up, Will's hand shoots out from under the blankets with a speed that's surprising for someone who can barely lift his head. His hand closes around Sam's wrist.

"Want you to lie here and be miserable with me. Barring that, just the lying is okay."

Sam swallows a chuckle that turns into a snort and unbuttons his jeans with the hand that Will isn't clutching.

"Okay," he says, gently pulling his wrist back and leaving his pants on the floor. "It's not like I have anything better to do or anything like that. No, you know, valuable work that I could be using this time to do. Nowhere else that I should be." He smiles to himself as he climbs into bed, wraps his arms around Will's middle, presses a kiss to the back of his neck. Despite the flu and Sam's concerns about Will overworking himself, despite the soup that's cooling on the stove and the work he brought home from the office, the pile of things that he should be catching up on, there really _is_ nowhere else that Sam would rather be, and something about that makes him hugely, impossibly happy.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Was that another earthquake?"_
> 
> Will hates California.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written, I believe, after a minor earthquake in the same area as the fictional town where Sam and Will live in my "Sam-won-his-election" AUs.

"I hate California," Will says, just as Sam is squinting at the blinking red numbers on the clock. He's pretty sure it's not 88:88, and that coupled with the way Will is hovering in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom, pale and twitching, is answer enough, but he asks anyway, just to be sure.

"Was that another earthquake?"

Will glares at him. "I can't believe you slept through that," he says. The shaking has stopped, but he's still tucked into the doorjamb and doesn't seem eager to come back to bed. "There were things falling off the shelves."

"I was tired," Sam says, and shrugs, swallowing a yawn. He's still tired. He'd like very much to roll over and get back to sleep, but Will still isn't moving and he knows he'll sleep better if he knows Will will be getting some sleep, too. "Come back to bed. Nothing's fallen on you. It wasn't even strong enough to knock the power out for more than a second."

"I once read that the majority of earthquake related injuries and fatalities happen after the earthquake is over," Will says. His fingers are wrapped around the edges of the doorframe, fingernails worrying at the seam of the wallpaper. His nerves would be endearing if it wasn't three o'clock in the morning.

"Do I even want to know why you were reading something like that?" Sam asks.

"In preparation for being forced to move to California," Will says. "As I normally try to avoid living on the edge of tectonic plates, I thought it best to do some research."

"Not your brightest idea," Sam mutters.

"What's that?"

Sam closes his eyes and counts to three. If he goes to sleep _right now_ he can sleep for two and a half hours before his alarm goes off. Hell, he'll take a five minute shower and shave at the office. Then he can sleep for three more hours.

"I said, 'You didn't have to move to California,'" Sam says, opening his eyes and raising his eyebrows at Will. Will just rolls his eyes.

"I know, I know," he says. "It's my fault for winning the election, blah blah blah, I'm sorry for being exceedingly good at my job."

"No," Sam says. "I mean, no one forced you to move to California. You could have stayed in DC."

Will gives him A Look. "No," he says, "I couldn't have."

Sam allows himself a moment of feeling inexpressibly gleeful for that. Then he goes back to mild irritation.

"Come back to bed, Will," Sam says. "I doubt you're going to trip over something on the ten foot walk from the door to the bed. You can't spend the rest of the night standing in the doorway."

"Wanna bet?" 

" _Will_ ," Sam says. "C'mon. If you stay in the doorway and the big one comes, you'll be trapped in a room with my dead body. At least if you're in bed we'll die together." Morbid, but sweet, right?

"Unless a big chunk of the ceiling falls, crushing you but only pinning me," Will says. "Then I'll be trapped in a bed with your dead body."

Leave it to Will to be even more morbid. "Will," Sam says again. "It's three am. I love you, but I'll kill you myself, I swear to god." 

Will mutters under his breath, but manages to pry his fingers off of the doorjamb. He's still pale and drawn and Sam knows that complaining is a cover for the real fear that's probably still gripping him. Sam knows that Will isn't lying or exaggerating when he says he hates California, that he'd rather be almost anywhere else in the world.

He also knows that Will has no intentions of leaving California for the foreseeable future and that Sam owes him for that at least.

Will climbs into bed after picking across the floor, which was messy even before the things on the edges of the bookcases fell to the ground. He takes off his glasses and places them on the bedside table, then finds Sam under the blankets and curls up perhaps a little closer than usual.

"Still hate California," Will mutters. "A lot."

"We'll be moving up north soon," Sam says, and he hopes he's not jinxing himself in saying that. The elections are still months away, and even though he's heavily favored to be the next Lieutenant Governor of California, anything can happen in a few months' time. 

"Are there fewer earthquakes in northern California?" Will asks.

Sam hums under his breath. "Yes," he lies.

Will cracks open one eye and studies Sam speculatively. "Are you just saying that to make me shut up and go to sleep?"

"Yes," Sam admits.

"Okay," Will says. "I'll yell at you in the morning."

"Thanks."


	28. Five Times Sam Called Will in the Middle of the Night

**Five Times Sam Called Will in the Middle of the Night**  
  
1\. _Debate Night_  
"Will? Um, this is Sam. Sam Seaborn. I... um, so it turns out I missed my flight back to DC. Those rental counters... um. Anyway, I just wanted to see if you were still awake. I, um, I couldn't get on another plane until morning, so I thought maybe--"  
  
Sam's phone beeped. He didn't think twice before accepting the call from Will, but he did need to suck in another breath before saying, "Hey, Will, it turns out I have a few extra hours to kill...."  
  
2\. _Thanksgiving Weekend_  
"Hey, Will, it's Sam. I'm settling into the new place and just thought I'd let you know how things are going. I was going to call earlier, but--okay, honestly? I forgot about the time difference. I'm sorry! It's just... it's so strange being out here. Not being plugged in. Not being able to cross the hall and talk to Josh or CJ, not throwing ideas off of Toby or listening to that ball bounce against my window--has he done that to you yet? Don't be offended--it's really just a sign of grudging affection, I swear. And don't let the rest of the guys push you around too much either, okay? They're just--we're like a family. We were like a family. And they're going to be suspicious of anyone new, no matter how talented or driven or sweet they are. And yes, I did just call you sweet. Own it, Bailey. I saw the way you were sweet-talking my landlord and her six cats.  
  
"God, I can't remember what I called to talk about... which is, of course, a clumsy cover for the fact that I was really just calling to... well, to hear your voice.  
  
"I really did forget the time, though. Call me in the morning, if you have time.  
  
"Sweet dreams."  
  
3\. _President's Day Weekend_  
"Hi. It's me. So, I had this idea about the speech and I know I'm not supposed to be concentrating on that, but just hear me out, okay? I know that Toby's been freaking out over the fifth section, and I was thinking that if you switched the third and sixth paragraphs around, and tweak the first few sentences, it might read better.  
  
"Or I might be delirious with lack of sleep. Either way, you should try it. Call me back.  
  
"Oh, and. Um, the numbers aren't looking great. But I'm sure you already know that. It doesn't matter, okay? Don't worry. We can always rally from behind. Just concentrate on the speech. I'll concentrate on kicking Webb's ass."  
  
4\. _Night of the Special Election_  
"Okay, so... so... I'm sorry. About the yelling before. Um, all the yelling. I was just--I mean, I knew I wasn't going to win, I knew it, but I guess I thought that--I don't know what I thought. I don't know what I'm thinking. I, uh... I had a lot to drink. Toby just kept... refilling my glass. And then Leo called. And I just wasn't in a great mindset for, you know... you.  
  
"Well, for that, I guess. I mean, the house. Or the apartment or whatever. It just... you know, you sounded like you came up with this whole plan because you knew I was going to lose, and even though _I knew_ I was going to lose, I didn't let myself think about losing and it... um. It hurt that you had. Even though that was the smart thing to do. Back-up plan and all.  
  
"Um.  
  
"Anyway. It's... late. It's so late it's early where you are. And... I know I told Leo no for now, but... there are other jobs in DC, right? That I could have, I mean. And it would probably be better if we weren't working together anyway. I mean, if we're going to be living together.  
  
"If you even still want to live with me.  
  
"God, Will, please tell me you still want to live with me. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, Will, I didn't mean any of those things. None of them. And I can't believe I said them, goddammit, please pick up my phone Will! I know you're there! You have to be there.  
  
"Please?  
  
"God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
  
5\. _Valentine's Day_  
"Ha ha ha. Very funny, Bailey. Open the door.  
  
"I went out into the freezing rain to get you Chinese food--even though it's the middle of the night, even though, as I mentioned, _freezing rain_ \--because that's how much I love you. Now buzz me upstairs.  
  
"Will?  
  
"Will?  
  
"I think you need to remember who the only person who can work the new coffeemaker is."  
  
* _bzzzzzzzzz!_ *  
  
"Thank you."


	29. afraid to fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S2 AU - Will's not afraid to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of an AU that I was working on where Will is temping for NASA during the Galileo broadcast and Sam snatches him up for the speechwriting staff and they have unbearable sexual tension until they make Bad Decisions in the lead up to Bartlet's MS press conference and sleep together. This is well before that!

"It's not," Will had said, "that I'm afraid to fly."  
  
Sam had believed him at the time, but now he's not so sure. He's sitting in the seat across from Sam looking paler than usual, bags settling under his eyes. He has his eyes closed, but Sam can tell he's not asleep, would be able to tell even if he couldn't hear the faint mumbling he's making, counting to himself as the seconds tick past.  
  
The turbulence is bad, but not _that bad_.  
  
"I thought you said you weren't afraid to fly," Sam finally says.  
  
"I'm not," Will says.  
  
"You look pretty afraid," Sam says.  
  
"I'm fine," Will says.  
  
"Are you sure?" Sam asks.  
  
"I'm _fine_ ," Will says.  
  
"Do you want a drink?" Sam asks.  
  
"I want the goddamn plane to land!" Will snaps, his eyes opening and pinning Sam down with a glare before snapping shut again. "Oh Jesus," he mutters.  
  
CJ glances over at them during the exchange before putting her headphones back on and giving Sam a meaningful look. Donna is also giving him a meaningful look from the seat behind Will, but hers very clearly means that Sam should make a move, as opposed to CJ's more succinct _Both of you shut the hell up._  
  
The plane hits a particularly rough bit of whatever it is that makes rough plane rides so awful and Will lets out a pitiful little whimper. There's really nothing Sam can do but unbuckle his seat belt and move to sit in the empty seat next to Will.  
  
"I'm not afraid to fly," Will mutters peevishly, but the conviction is gone. He sounds infinitely younger and scared. Sam can't very well put his arms around him and promise that everything will be all right, but he can't just sit here feeling helpless either. He compromises, reaching across the armrest to take Will's hand in his, squeezing tightly and saying nothing.  
  
It takes a moment, but after a few seconds, Will's fingers wrap around his and he squeezes back.


	30. naptime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam had to rearrange two meetings and feign illness to his assistant to get home early, and even then he was twenty-two minutes late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the same universe as [The Substance of Things Hoped For](https://archiveofourown.org/series/26480).

Sam had to rearrange two meetings and feign illness to his assistant to get home early, and even then he was twenty-two minutes late. When he walked into the apartment, he expected to see Will sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, frustrated and impatient, or maybe sitting in the kitchen downing some coffee and picking at the work he was sure to have brought home with him, even though the President and Leo insisted that he keep a light workload after the shooting.

Will was neither of those places, however. His jacket was thrown over the back of the couch, his pain pills were on the coffee table, his briefcase was by the door, and Will was no where in sight.

Sam stepped out of his shoes and ducked into the bedroom. He thought maybe Will was changing out of his suit. He was surprised, then, to find that he was curled up in the blankets of the bed, injured arm held close to his chest, blissfully passed out.

Sam glanced at his watch. It wasn't even five o'clock. He was tempted to wake Will up and tell him that, needle him just a little, just because he could, just because the hurricane of press had finally receded and they were still standing.

He was tempted to wake Will, but the sight of Will wrapped up in blankets tempted him even more. He removed his tie, stripped out of his shirt and pants efficiently, and climbed in next to Will, burrowing into the blankets and tucking an arm carefully around Will's waist. After all, there was really nothing wrong with an afternoon nap.


	31. the tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's hands tighten around his tie - Sam's tie, really, though Sam has given it to him and there's something so casually intimate about that - and his breath catches again, audibly this time. "I... I thought you said I could keep the tie," he manages to say, his voice much rougher than usual.
> 
> "You can," Sam murmurs, and pulls, just once, tugging him forward.

By the time he's out of the bar, Sam is already halfway to the rental car. Will thanks whatever deities are listening and shouts, "Wait!" before he can stop himself.  
  
Sam turns slowly, head tilted, and Will suddenly needs to loosen his tie.  
  
"I told you, keep the tie," Sam says, but he's slowly starting to walk back towards Will. Will drops his hands back down to his sides and hesitates. His brilliant plan faltered here. Or rather, now that his original brilliant plan was ruined, version 2.0 ends abruptly right here. Right here, with Sam walking towards him and coming to stop in front of him, with the two of them standing in the shadows of the bar with no one else in sight.  
  
"Right," he says. "I know. I just... There was something I was going to say to you, because I thought that the odds that I ever saw you again would be a million to one. But I'm sure I'll at least talk to you again over the coming weeks now, so it's probably not a good idea anymore." Sam stares at him, looking completely and adorably confused and he has to loosen his tie again. Of course, Sam looking like that doesn't help much for his concentration and he just ends up tightening it.  
  
"You're... wait," Sam says, reaching up to help loosen the tie. Will's heart is suddenly beating double time, and when Sam's hand stops to rest on his chest, his breath catches in his throat. "You're heart's going awfully fast," Sam says. He flattens the tie, straightens it, his hands lingering. Will thinks he might be about to have a coronary.  
  
"It's hot out here," he squeaks. "Is it just me, or is it hot out here?" Sam's hands tighten around his tie - Sam's tie, really, though Sam has given it to him and there's something so casually intimate about that - and his breath catches again, audibly this time. "I... I thought you said I could keep the tie," he manages to say, his voice much rougher than usual.  
  
"You can," Sam murmurs, and pulls, just once, tugging him forward.  
  
Sam kisses him like this had been _his_ plan all along, and not Will's, not something that Will has been thinking about constantly from the moment he saw Sam in the back of the press conference, from the moment Sam pressed a necktie into his hands. Maybe it had been Sam's plan, but if it wasn't, he's certainly a quick study. Will's hands are clamped onto Sam's biceps to keep himself from falling over, but Sam is completely in charge of this kiss, of the way they're slowly backing up against the wall of the bar, of the way their teeth are clicking and their tongues are sliding past each other, of the way their knees are getting weak, or at least Will's are and thank god the wall is there to hold him up.  
  
Sam is in charge, but Will ends it, mostly because he has a feeling his lips are turning blue. Sam, in his enthusiasm, has managed to make his tie even tighter than it was.  
  
"Sam," he gasps, and lets go, unable to say anything to soothe away the look of rejection on Sam's face, at least not until his fingers have worked out the double windsor and he's able to breathe again. "Right, okay," he says, panting for breath, leaning on Sam probably more than he needs to, more than he should. "Maybe we should try that again, without my windpipe being blocked." Sam is all smiles again, now that he realizes that Will wasn't pushing him away, not really, and he pulls the tie from around Will's neck with a minimal amount of fussing.  
  
"I'm getting really good at fixing other people's ties," Sam says, looping the tie around Will's neck and tugging at either end, pulling him closer.  
  
"What?" Will says, eyes still slightly glazed from a combination of lack of oxygen and being thoroughly kissed.  
  
"Nevermind," Sam says. "We should maybe, I don't know, move this inside somewhere?"

"You have a plane to catch," Will says, but it's a feeble protest, nothing more than a way for Sam to get out, a concrete escape plan, so that when the self-deprecating part of Will's brain kicks in, he'll know that Sam had a chance to leave and chose not to take it.  
  
"I can get a later flight. Or a flight tomorrow. They don't really need me immediately." As if on cue, Sam's pager goes off. He fumbles for it and hits the button to light up the screen. They can both clearly read Toby Zeigler's name and "where the hell are you?" but Sam turns it off and stuffs it back in his pocket. "Right. See? They don't need me immediately. We can, you know, have coffee somewhere. Or I can take my tie off of you. And many other things."  
  
"You already took your tie off of me," Will points out, although he doesn't know why he's trying to be difficult when all he really wants to do is lose the rest of his clothing and drag Sam somewhere dark to do indecent things to him.  
  
"Right," Sam says.  
  
"I have a hotel room. At the Marriott," Will says.  
  
"Great."  
  
"But I should go tell my sister--"  
  
"That you're going to go have sex with a White House senior staffer?"  
  
Will pauses, blinking thoughtfully. "Yeah, actually, you know what," he says. "I think she can get her own ride back to the hotel."  
  
"Me too."


	32. SGA Fusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets from a fusion with Stargate Atlantis that I never actually finished. All of the snippets are together here, but they don't go in any particular order or form a coherent narrative. Sorry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does what it says on the tin! I had a lot of this planned out and then, predictably, did not follow through with most of it!
> 
> The general conceit is that the TWW characters are military and scientific personnel on the Atlantis mission. It is mostly focused on interpersonal shenanigans.

Sam was in the middle of a translation when Toby knocked on the door to his office.

"Your stalker is here," he said.

"He's not my stalker," Sam said absently, squinting at a glyph. "I'm his stalker."

"I'm flattered," Will said, and Sam looked up so quickly he almost snapped his neck.

"Major Bailey!" Will grinned at him. "I... um... hi."

"Hi," Will said.

"This is pathetic," Toby muttered. "I'm going back to my office." 

Sam didn't even notice his absence. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing towards the chair in front of his work station. "Do you want a cup or coffee or..." Will nodded, and Sam jumped to his feet to attack the coffeemaker. He needed to take a deep breath and get his head together. It wasn't as if he'd never seen Will before. Sometimes they bumped into each other at the gym or in the mess or in meetings. Once, Major Lorne had taken Sam along on a mining mission to translate some ruins and Will's team had been there too. It hadn't been a great moment for Sam--he tripped over his own feet and almost knocked over one of the structures he had been brought on to translate. It had, of course, been right in front of both Will and Lorne. Lorne hadn't been very happy. He spent a lot of time muttering about mining missions and artifacts and something that might have been Daniel Jackson's name, spat with utter frustration, but whatever that was all about, Sam hadn't been off-world since.

He also hadn't seen Will since.

He slid a fresh cup of coffee across the table to Will. "It's a little old, but it's still hot," he said.

"Thanks," Will said, but he didn't drink any.

"So," Sam said. "Um. How's your gate team?"

"That's... actually what I'm here to talk to you about," he said. "I'm sure you heard about Lorne and Zelenka and--"

"--the green berries, yeah," Sam said. He gave an involuntary shudder. He figured everyone had heard about that by now.

"So, Zelenka is refusing to go off-world again," Will continued. Sam snorted. Zelenka was a smart guy. "And McKay wants Simpson on Lorne's team. Which means that my team has an opening."

Sam blinked. "And... you want..." He cleared his throat. "Doesn't McKay normally parcel out the scientists?"

"Sheppard talked him out of it after I admitted that I prefer the soft sciences," Will said. 

"Really?" Sam asked. He knew that, in McKay's opinion, the science of language couldn't get any softer if it employed dozens of puppies.

"Really," Will said. "I did Political Science at the Academy. I have a law degree." Sam tried to look surprised and not like he already knew all of that from blackmailing Sargent Campbell into hacking Will's files. "And I want you to fill the extra spot on my team."

"What about when Zelenka realizes that he needs to go off-world if only to avoid being surrounded by McKay every hour of the day?" Sam asked. Because that was inevitable. 

"I already asked. Zelenka goes back to Lorne's team and Simpson goes to whatever team needs her. You can stay with me." Will flushed and quickly amended, "Us. With us."

Sam smiled slowly. "Okay," he said. "I'd like that."

"Great," Will said, smiling back. "I'd...like that too. I'll have Sheppard send the off-world auth forms to your tablet. And I'll be in touch."

"I'm looking forward to it," Sam said, and he was still smiling a little dreamily when Will left and Toby returned.

"What was that all about?" Toby asked.

"Major Bailey wants me to...be on...his off-world team...." Sam's eyes widened slowly as he realized what he had just agreed to. " _Shit_."

*

*

*

At the SGC, gate teams were numbered and reshuffled based on performance on missions, personality, and proficiency of civilian personnel. On Atlantis, teams were referred to by the name of the person who was nominally in charge. Dr. Weir liked this method because she thought it meant that no one felt the pressure to move up through the numbers and no one felt they were worth any more or less than anyone else based on what team they were on. Sheppard liked this method because it meant less work for him. 

(Although Weir's theories on team structure weren't entirely true, the methodology did hold up. Unlike SG-1, Sheppard's team pretty much got into more trouble than the rest of the teams combined and Lorne's team, which would technically be next in the hierarchy, usually ended up with the weirdest missions of any of the other teams, including Sheppard's. Whenever anyone started to feel frustrated about being on a team that mostly did tertiary trade work, inevitably either Sheppard's team would get captured or Lorne's team would come home married and everyone would feel marginally better.)

Will's team fell somewhere near the bottom of the pecking order. There were a few teams below his, but Team Bailey's tasks were rather mundane. He was incredibly competent in combat, but something about his posting as a JAG lawyer prior to working at the SGC made the higher-ups leery about sending him into battle. He didn't seem to mind too much; he worked as legal counsel at the SGC for a few years before begging his way off-world to oversee a trade agreement. He took well to trade negotiations and ended up on a lower-tier SG team. He had the Ancient gene--not a very strong expression of it, but enough to fly a jumper and turn things on without thinking about it too hard. The only reason he skipped the original expedition was that he couldn't bear the thought of leaving his family behind, possibly permanently. With the _Daedalus_ running regular missions to and from Earth, though, Will was more than happy to make the trip and ecstatic when Sheppard presented him with option of leading his own gate team. He'd been sure he'd have to argue just to get a chance to go off-world, and now he was getting his own team. Well, mostly his own team. Sheppard told him the catch was that he had to take Dr. Simpson on as his team's scientist, since Simpson's three previous teams hadn't worked out and McKay was adamant about having her in the field.

Will could work with that. He had two other space to fill, and decide to pull a Marine from the initial expedition--Sargent Young, who was bright and funny and a disturbingly good shot--and one from the latest group--Lieutenant Hayes, who was better at hand-to-hand than any tiny blonde with a sweet Southern accent had any right to be. The four of them got on well and managed to get into slightly more trouble than the average Atlantis gate team but still significantly less than Sheppard and Lorne, which everyone considered a win.

*

blah blah blah here Team Shep and Team Bailey are on a mission together and Sheppard, McKay, Sam, and Will get captured. Ainsley and Charlie and Ronon and Teyla have to provide the rescue, as usual, but while they're waiting, Will asks why this is his first joint mission with Team Shep.

*

"I was just curious," Will said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not precisely ecstatic to be sitting in an alien prison, which seems to be how at least fifty percent of your missions end. But thinking about it now, we have the strongest team when it comes to translation and negotiation and it feels like...I don't know, like you were going out of your way to avoid us."

"I wasn't," Sheppard said. "It wasn't personal. It's not like I don't trust you."

"I didn't think it was because you didn't trust me," Will said. "I didn't really think about it much at all, to be honest." Sheppard peered at him with his eyebrows raised. "Okay, so I thought about it a little, but I figured it was because of... you know." He gestured vaguely. "Maybe you felt bad."

Sam looked back and forth between them. "Felt bad about what?" he asked.

"Yes, can we get a little more information about this conversation?" McKay asked.

"It wasn't because of that," Sheppard said quickly. "That's not why I made you a team leader either. You're a good officer, you seemed to be doing good work at the SGC, and you had the gene."

"Well, I know that Elizabeth wasn't entirely thrilled with the decision," Will said.

"Elizabeth's not thrilled with most of my decisions," Sheppard admitted with a shrug. "That didn't have any bearing on what I did. Neither did the other thing." 

"Okay," Will said, holding up his hands. "I believe you. It doesn't affect how I think of you, either, in case you were curious. I mean, it was a long time ago."

Sam looked at McKay for help, but McKay was staring at Sheppard through slitted eyes. Sam could practically see the gears in his head turning as he watched Sheppard rub the back of his neck.

"Yeah," Sheppard said with a small smile, "it was that."

McKay's eyes widened almost comically, although Sam didn't get it. He didn't have to wait long, though, because McKay pointed wordlessly back and forth between Will and Sheppard and then nearly shouted, "You _slept with him_?"

Sam's eyes went wide. Will blushed furiously and Sheppard shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Um," he said.

"Well," Will said.

"Oh my god," Sam said.

"You _hussy_!" McKay said.

"Hey," Sam said quickly, "just because he--"

"Not _him_ ," McKay said, flapping a dismissive hand at Will, " _him_." He glared at Sheppard.

"It was a long time ago, McKay!" Sheppard said. So much for plausible deniability. "I was still in school, I was pissed at my dad, I was drunk..." He looked at Will helplessly.

"I was a lot cuter when I was seventeen," Will added.

"You're still--" Sam started to say automatically and then covered his mouth with both hands. Whoops. Will's eyes widened. "Never mind," Sam said quickly.

"Um," Will said. "This maybe isn't the best place for this conversation."

"No," McKay said, "by all means, go back to discussing your junior high crush. Why don't you pass him a note that says 'Do you like me? Check one: yes or no?'"

"You're not exactly one to talk about a junior high crush, Rodney," Sam said, blushing to the roots of his hair. He was in an alien jail cell with his boss, his team leader, and his team leader's boss having a discussion about his crush on his team leader. This had to be a dream.

"It's not a crush if I'm actually sleeping with him," Rodney said.

" _McKay_!" Sheppard hissed.

"What?" McKay said. "You've apparently slept with Major Klutz and Sherborne is too busy fantasizing about what he's going to name his magical adopted alien babies to care about who anyone else is sleeping with."

"It's Seaborn," Sam said.

"Whatever," McKay said.


End file.
